


drive my body

by humanveil



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 06:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13266066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: Can you pick me up?Hux shouldn’t. He does anyway.





	drive my body

He’s not doing anything when the phone buzzes, not really. The television is switched on, some straight to DVD movie starring some guy who looks like every other guy he’s ever seen in these things playing in the background, the light of the screen casting the room in a yellow tinged glow. Hux is basked in it, stretched out across the cushion of his couch, one hand hanging off the edge and buried in a chunk of Millicent’s fur. She’d harassed him for pats before; had meowed until he gave in.

Now, now they’re both half asleep. Hux is only hanging on because seven thirty is far too early to go to bed, never mind how sleep deprived he is, or that no one would ever find out, anyway. He’d been interested in the movie before, but he’s just staring at the screen now, the storyline long since dead.

The buzz of his phone against the wooden coffee table is more than enough to gain his attention, the vibration far louder than it has any right to be. Hux reaches out blindly, fumbles for a minute before plucking the device from its place. The sight of his screen lit up with a little rectangular box spelling out _Kylo Ren, New message_ is the last fucking thing Hux expects to see, but there it is, clear as day and impossible to miss.

They’ve not seen nor spoken to each other in well over a year—not since Kylo fucked off in a fit of rage and never came back. Hux can’t imagine why he’d text now, and it’s that burning curiosity which has him unlocking the phone instead of ignoring it.

He’d deleted their text thread seven months after the break up, so the new message is the only thing that’s there. It glares up at him, the screen too bright for this time of day, the words clear, concise, and utterly fucking confusing.

_Can you pick me up?_

Hux’s first thought is what. It’s a deadpan in his own head, the one word all he can think as he stares at the phone, brow furrowed with something halfway between disbelief and confusion. His second thought is that he should ignore it, is no, he’s not going to drive to who knows where to pick up Kylo Ren. He might not be doing anything, but he figures he’s doing enough; enough to come up with an excuse, at least. No, sorry, I can’t make it. No, I want to see how this movie ends. No, I’m almost asleep. No, I don’t want to. No, who the fuck do you think you are?

His third thought is _I’m going to go and get him._

It comes with a sense of inevitability, an _of course_ he’s going to do it, as if it’s two years prior and he’s still the type of person who drops everything for Kylo Ren. As if he were ever really that person at all. As if Kylo’s deluded perception of self-importance isn’t what had split them up in the first fucking place.

Not ten seconds after he’s decided that yes, he will, the phone buzzes with another text. It’s a location, the road one Hux recognises, one he’s been to time and again. It’s in Kylo’s parents’ neighbourhood, Hux recalls, and yes, he thinks again, he’s definitely going to go get him. If Kylo has been at his parents…

Hux gets up from the couch with a long sigh, sends back a text that says _two hours_ , and then moves to get a coat, shoes, his keys. He’s in the car within minutes, flying down the freeway with the window down, wind harsh as it fills the car, ruffles his hair.

It smells like a storm, Hux thinks; fresh rain against warm pavement, a hint of gasoline somewhere there in the aroma. The sun has set, the road in front of him filled with a blur of red and white lights, the sky a darkening blue, not a single star in sight. His sleeve rides up to mid forearm, the dark fabric littered with orange cat hair. He gets every red light along the way. He does not think of what he’s going to say to Kylo when he sees him.

Two hours. Two hours, and then the car is skidding to a stop along the sidewalk. It’s well and truly night time now, the sky black and unforgiving, the only source of light a semi-broken streetlamp halfway down the street, it’s little yellow glow just enough for Hux to spot Kylo sitting with his back to a shop wall, two duffle bags piled high beside him and a pair of earphones hanging from his neck.

He looks up as Hux steps out of the car, leaves the door open behind him. He doesn’t speak, just gets to his feet in movement that is somehow both clumsy and elegant, his hand reaching to take hold of both bags. He looks the same as he had the last time they’d seen each other, Hux thinks. A little more ragged, maybe. His chin covered in more stubble than Hux remembers, his hair a little longer, a little curlier, the top of it tied in a braid that Hux has never seen before. But still the same, still _Kylo._

“You’re driving back,” is the first thing Hux says to him. No questions, no whys or whats or hows, just that. Kylo shrugs in answer, a minuscule lift of his left shoulder, and chucks his bags in the back before settling down in the driver’s seat. Hux moves to the other side of the car, slips into the passenger’s seat, and slams the door harsher than necessary. He looks at Kylo from the corner of his eye, but neither of them speak, not yet.

They’re back on the road in minutes, Kylo driving faster than Hux had; a little more careless. It’s something Hux used to scold him for, something he used to worry about, but now he doesn’t care. Thinks maybe crashing head first into a tree will be better than whatever type of talk they have to have.

He wonders if they have to talk, if they can get away with saying nothing. He wonders if there’s anything to be said. He can’t think of anything, or he can, but it’s nothing substantial, nothing that would make a difference.

They’d never actually been good at talking. Perhaps that was part of the problem.

He looks at Kylo, now. Properly. His body is tense: jaw clenched, shoulders straight, his breath quiet and controlled. Stray strands of hair dance in the wind, some of them tucked behind his ear. The ring that had been there two years ago no longer is, the silver stud replaced by a scar that runs the length of Kylo’s lobe. Street lights pass in a blur of colour outside, the car now filled with the sound of the radio, the voice of the show’s host low and quiet as it comes through the speakers, talks of whatever new hit is to be played next.

Hux trails his gaze down. Black shirt, short sleeves, tight around his biceps, his chest. It dips at Kylo’s throat, exposes a strip of skin that Hux had once loved to bite, to lick. It’s partnered with jeans, the fabric dark and tight, clinging to the flesh of Kylo’s thighs. Hux swallows, looks away. Desire is a funny thing, he thinks. The way is crawls out of the ashes, the way it lingers when it shouldn’t.

He flicks his gaze back up, stares at Kylo’s hands, at his fingers curled around the steering wheel. His grip is right—too tight. His knuckles are roughed up, littered with scratches and cuts, coloured with dried blood and blossoming bruises. Hux figures he should ask, that anyone else would ask, that he would have, too, if it were two bloody years ago, but it isn’t, and he doesn’t. He’s not sure the answer will mean anything.

“I didn’t hit anyone,” Kylo says, sometime later, when Hux’s gaze as returned to the window, to the dark span of the freeway in front of them. “Just a wall.”

Hux snorts, airy and humourless and quiet enough that it’s almost drowned by the radio. “A typical family reunion, then,” he says, murmurs. Kylo’s grip of the steering wheel tightens.

“They want—” he cuts off with a sigh, a small shake of his head. “I couldn’t stay.”

“So you called me.”

“Texted.”

_“Ren.”_

There’s another sigh, softer this time. Less annoyed. Kylo looks to him for a second, meets his eyes for a fleeting moment before turning back to the road. “Who else am I supposed to call?” he asks, and there’s too much sincerity in it, Hux thinks. Too much of a harsh reality.

“We haven’t—”

“I know,” Kylo says before he can finish it. “I know, but.” He cuts off, swipes a hand across his face, drags it down over his mouth. “No one else is going to drive two hours in the rain to pick me up, are they?”

Hux breathes; slow, steady. It’s not raining, not anymore. Had stopped an hour and a half ago. There are still droplets, though. Little pools of water that stick to the windshield, that drip down the glass. He trails one with his gaze, says, “You assumed I would.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Kylo says. “If you—I mean. I would, for you.”

 _“Why?”_ Hux asks again, louder, now. “We hav—”

 _“I know.”_ They slow down, stuck in a burst of late night traffic. Kylo looks to him again, his eyes wide, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “We haven’t seen each other since—” He waves a hand, lets the action finish the sentence for him. “But you came anyway.”

Hux quiets at that, because he had, hadn’t he? With only a moment of contemplation. One text, after so long with nothing, and here he fucking is. He leans his head against the window, his earlier exhaustion coming back with a newfound ferocity. This thing, he thinks. This thing he has with Kylo—it’ll kill him one day. He’s sure of it.

“Still at Milton?”

Kylo’s voice breaks the silence, draws Hux back out of his head. They’re off the freeway now, winding through backstreets, roads that lead to Hux’s apartment. Hux hums a conformation, wonders when they’d decided to go back to his place before realising that they hadn’t. That Kylo had just assumed they would. He isn’t sure if he should be angry at that, doesn’t have the energy to be either way.

He supposes that he ought to get used to it, that this is his life again: a sequence of unpredictability, a whirlwind he considers the Kylo Ren Effect. The thought is unnervingly easy to accept, as if this is what a buried part of him had been waiting for. Hoping for.

When the car stops, when they reach his apartment, when Kylo walks through the door with a familiarity that shouldn’t still be there, Hux wonders why this is easy, why falling back into sync with each other feels natural. When the door shuts behind them, when Kylo dumps his bags next to the couch and leans down to scoop Millicent up into his arms, he wonders why he’s glad it is, why he isn’t over this.

When, later, Kylo presses him down into the mattress and kisses him again for first time in well over a year, Hux figures that none of it really matters, anyway. That this, this thing, whatever they have with each other, is driven by an inexplicable force, one Hux is never going to quite understand. That there is never going to be a satisfying answer to any question he can pose, so he should probably just stop asking.

Kylo doesn’t leave the next day, nor the one after that. Hux isn’t sure if he should be angry or not.

**Author's Note:**

> an old wip i figured it was time to finish. i’m far too tired to tell if it’s any good, but i hope you liked it!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/irnstrk) / [tumblr](http://humanveil.tumblr.com/)


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